d. "With a dozen
different courses plotted out from the States, from South America, and
from England, to here. _To Casablanca!_"

"That's right," the Colonel said soberly. "Every course plotted on that
chart _ends_ at Casablanca! If you look closer, you will see where the
Nazi owner of that chart has penciled in the area off the coast of
Morocco that he patrolled."

"Nazi owner, sir?" Freddy Farmer choked out. "You mean--"

The English-born air ace stumbled over his words, and before he could
start over again, Colonel Welsh answered him.

"That's right, Farmer. That chart was taken from the body of a dead Nazi
pilot, whose bomber was shot down in the Atlas Mountains about two
hundred miles from here."

"One of Goering's Snoopers, eh?" Dawson murmured absently.

Major General Hawker stiffened and glanced at him sharply.

"What's that, Dawson?" the senior officer asked. "Where'd you hear about
Goering's Snoopers?"

"The Officers' Mess orderly was telling us, sir," Dawson explained. "He
said there has been a group of Nazi bombers hanging around this base for
the last three days, but not too close. He said that your pilots had
nicknamed them Goering's Snoopers."

"Oh, I see," the major general said with a nod. "That's right, they
certainly are Snoopers. But they'll be a whole lot _more_ than that--if
they get their chance!"

The senior office emphasized the last by rapping a clenched fist on the
desk.

"Then you know what they're up to, sir?" Dawson asked quickly. "I
suppose the colonel told you that we sighted them off shore? Is their
base near here, sir?"

Dawson would have asked more questions, but the major general raised a
hand for silence and looked at Colonel Welsh.

"Do you want me to do the talking, Colonel?" he asked. "Or would you
rather?"

"No, go right ahead, sir," Colonel Welsh replied with a shake of his
head. "After all, you've been right here where it's all been going on.
Go right ahead, sir."

Major General Hawker grunted and stared down at the desk top for a
moment, as though taking time out to choose his words. Presently he
looked up at Dawson and Farmer. Both youths were a little startled by
the glitter of seething anger in his eyes.

"The North African campaign has progressed so rapidly and so
successfully," he began, "that we're way ahead of ourselves, you might
say. I mean that we've been so busy doing the big things that we've had
to let much detail work slide. For example, thi